Hill and Home

by Merlin Missy

Consequences 2. Two houseguests come to Wyvern, sending ripples through the lives of the other residents.

2. Chapter 2

VVVVV
Consequences Part Two: Hill and Home (2/3)
a Gargoyles story
by Merlin Missy
Copyright 1997, 2005
PG-13
VVVVV

Fox had left that morning, and David had spent most of the day
trying not to notice her absence. He'd at first pretended she was
out shopping, and when that didn't do, he changed the fantasy to a
shopping trip in L.A. He'd felt better, then, but not much.

Something was eating at his family, something strange,
revolving around the visitors, and he didn't like it one bit. He
went over what he knew in his head, and found a disturbing lack of
information.

Fox had been mildly obsessed with Princess Katharine since
long before her arrival. He recalled a long succession of books on
her night stand, a haphazard pile on the large oak table in the
library. Her working pile. She'd never been able to fully explain
why she'd wanted to know so much about the previous lady of the
castle, only that she did. Having her under the same roof was to
her the equivalent of an Egyptologist given the chance to have tea
with Tutankhamen.

Owen was a different problem. He was distracted, pensive, and
more since the gargoyles had moved home. Whether they served as a
reminder of his banishment, or irked him for reasons he wasn't
sharing, he wasn't himself. Since Katharine and Tom had come to
stay, he'd been so much not himself that David had wondered if he
had changed characters without notifying anyone. He'd been living
almost exclusively in his quarters since their arrival, had come
out only under near-direct order, and had grumbled about it when he
did. At the last minute before she'd left, Fox had asked him to
take some documents to Hyena for her signature, and while he hadn't
exploded, he'd teetered precariously at the edge of rage before
he'd finally calmed. He wasn't acting like Owen. He wasn't acting
like Puck. He wasn't acting like anyone David had ever seen.

With an internal shake of his head, he reluctantly returned
his attention to the people in his office. The heads of his R&D
groups had been gathered together for a special purpose. He had
already put his best researchers on the problem, and they had shown
him promising enough results to warrant his allocating more
resources to them. This little meeting was to inform everyone.

FitzMartin, looking very nervous, continued with his briefing,
oblivious to the fact that his employer wasn't listening. He was
a good scientist, but a miserable presenter. It was a wonder he'd
ever gotten any grants before coming to work for XE. His partner
was equally as mousy when it came to public speaking; David had no
questions as to why the other man had ducked out of this meeting.

The doctor finished his talk, then fielded questions from the
rest of those present, at least those paying attention. Owen,
sitting in his typical place at David's left, was visibly bored,
and barely covered a yawn as FitzMartin went back to a slide by
request. David frowned in his direction, but didn't catch his
notice. Dammit, his assistant could at least stay awake. This was
an important project, and no one knew how important more than the
two of them.

The meeting dispersed shortly afterwards. The heads grumbled
out, a few complaining of impossibilities, thinking he couldn't
hear them as they did. FitzMartin stayed behind a moment,
collecting his slides. Owen started playing with some papers
before him, stock reports for Gen-U-Tech. They'd been going over
them before the meeting. Satisfied that Owen wouldn't disappear on
him soon, he approached FitzMartin.

"Good work, Henry," he said encouragingly.

"No it wasn't," said the other man, "but thank you, sir. Do
you think they understood what I was talking about?"

"If they didn't, they will soon. This is going to be our main
project until further notice, and you and Daniel are in charge of it."

The man stared at him. "Us? But I thought ... "

"You. I can't think of anyone closer to the project, other than
Sevarius." He frowned, noticed a matching, even deeper scowl on
FitzMartin's face at the mention of the other doctor's name, before
banishing thoughts of Anton from his mind for the time being. Spilled
milk and all that. "You'll be certain to tell Daniel?"

"Yes. I mean, of course I will, sir. Thank you, sir!" He
shook his hand, then pulled back, wondering if he'd presumed too
much. David smirked at him, letting him know he had, but that he
didn't mind. Then he turned away, not wanting particularly to
watch the man gather his things and scurry out.

He waited until he heard the door close, then leaned casually
against the wall. "Spill it."

Owen looked at him, mystified. "Spill what?"

"Whatever's eating at you."

Owen returned to his perusal of the stock reports. "I have no
idea what you're talking about."

All right, he had known this wasn't going to be too easy.
He grabbed the report from Owen's hand and set the papers on his
desk. The flash of fury on the other man's face, quickly replaced
by calm surprise, gave him all the information he needed.

"Yes, you do. Something is bothering you, so badly that
you're slipping. You forget things. You never used to forget
your work. You're snapping at people for no reason."

"I'm only human." The joke had sharp edges.

"You're rude. Not only to me and the rest of our happy little
family, but to our business contacts. I've had to field complaints
from Mason and Martens again."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize my performance was suffering.
You may rest assured this will not happen again." He stood,
obviously ready to end the conversation.

"That's not good enough. I don't like it when my employees
have personal problems that affect their judgement. You know
company policy as well as or better than I do. Employees who
demonstrate erratic behavior or mental imbalance will be sent to
a staff psychologist for evaluation and possible treatment." He
had already pictured trying to explain his friend's unique brand of
multiple personality disorder to a psychologist, and recognized
that he would be the one carted away rather than Owen. However, if
that's what it took ...

"You wouldn't."

"If it meant the difference between keeping you around or
watching you destroy yourself, you sure as hell bet I would. Did
you think I wouldn't notice?" Defiance blazed again in the
normally placid blue eyes. He had to change tactics if this was
going to work. In a milder tone he asked, "Is it Angela? Or
Katharine?"

To any other observer, Owen's face would have remained as
impassive as the castle stones. To eyes long accustomed to seeking
his smallest reaction, usually in vain, there was a flinch that
spoke volumes. "Tell me." It wasn't an order. It was a plea to
his best friend. Don't shut me out.

"It's that obvious?" He nodded, eliciting a rueful smile from the
other man. "It's not really Angela, though I half-suspect she's doing it
purposefully."

"You miss your home."

He hesitated. "Yes, I suppose that's part of it, too."

"Then what?"

A deep breath. "When Oberon came for Alexander, I knew there
was no way I could face him. My powers, when I had them, could
never have beaten him. I planned to sit out the fight, and beg for
my life when he'd beaten the rest of you and taken the child
anyway. So I left."

"But you came back. When it mattered, you stood with us. The
others know that."

"It didn't matter. I could have sat on the towers eating
popcorn for all the good I did. Titania intended for Alexander to
stay in the World from the start. I knew that as soon as Fox put
on that display of hers. Nothing I said or did made one iota of
difference because the Queen had already decided what was to be."

"It mattered to me. I know what you gave up for our sake. So
does Fox."

He was met with bitterness, no longer hidden. "I didn't do it
for you or Fox. Or even Alexander."

That was unexpected. He spread his hands. "All right, so you
had your own reasons. That doesn't change the fact that you fought
on our side. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

Owen looked suddenly bewildered, an expression he'd never
thought he'd see on the man's face. It was followed by something
he didn't think possible.

Owen laughed, without the faintest trace of mirth. He'd heard
the same sound only once before.

He had been seventeen, working on his father's boat. One of
Maine's impossibly sudden summer storms had risen, tossing the
Aurora on the waves like a leaf in a gutter. One of the men,
who'd been given the unfortunate name of Clint and was thus known
to all as Dirty Harry, had fallen overboard. While the rest of the
crew had frantically tried to save the boat, a much younger David
Xanatos had scrambled to find a rope to throw to him. When the
other man had caught it, he'd tugged with all his strength. The
rope snapped. For an instant, Harry had looked at the limp rope in
his hands, and then he'd thrown back his head and laughed with the
madness of knowing he was about to die. He'd slipped beneath the
waves, still laughing.

Now he was faced with the same desperate, mad laughter coming
from someone who meant more to him than almost anyone in the
world. His stomach curled into a cold, tight ball.

When Owen could finally catch his breath, he looked over, the
near-insanity still shining bright in his eyes. "Guilty? You have
no idea. None!" He stood, paced around the room, not making eye
contact. David stood back, telling himself this was for the best,
and let him talk.

"In a thousand years, you think I could get it right, don't you? Find
one path and stick to it. Be loyal to the immortal, all-powerful Oberon,
or to a few ephemeral humans who think themselves gods because they
have Internet access? The choice should be simple even for a gargoyle.
But no, the Puck must always dance on the edge of the laws, hemming
and hawing until the last possible moment. Disobey Oberon, stand
against his wishes just this once, and lose your powers, your home, very
likely your life. Obey him, let him do it again, and lose whatever hope
you might still have for a soul."

"He did this before, to another child?" His mind flashed through a
hundred comments made through the past several months, and then
through words never spoken, silences fluttering around an explanation
that had no name until now.

"Not quite." He stopped his pacing, leaned against the desk,
stared out into some other lifetime. The only thing about him that
was still Owen was the face; the spirit behind was purely Puck, as
he'd never known him. Stripped of his powers, his glamour, and
even the sharp wit with which he'd defended himself for the gods
only knew how long, the being before him now was very small, very
alone, and sad beyond the words of mortals to express.

"In that play, he stole away a little changeling boy. In
reality, he stole two. To make an exceptionally long story
painfully short, I had the chance many years ago to save one of
them when he decided to send it back to the World. I chose the
easier path, obeyed my Lord, said nothing as I did my job and left
the baby. After the Diaspora, I went looking for him, and missed
him by two days. When Oberon returned for Alexander, I tried to
stay silent again, and all I could think of was the first child I
betrayed, and how he'd cried when I left him. And even though it
was useless, even though I was as much a threat to Oberon as a
raindrop might have been, and even after he'd taken away everything
from me, I was content, because for the first time in a thousand
years, the other babe's cries were silenced.

"And then Angela comes to live with us, telling stories of her
home, her family, and then they come to visit, but wait, only two
of them come, and remember that child you missed by two days? This
time, you missed by a week."

He did the math in his head. A week on Avalon was nearly six
months out in the real world. Six months before the Gathering ...

"That's when Goliath and Elisa first went to Avalon. The
Archmage was attacking the Island. He was the baby?"

"Hardly. That one was mortal, though very powerful as mortals
go. He was probably a descendent of one of our kind. I can only
imagine his delight when he found one of Oberon's own to use as he
pleased. Apprentice? Hah. If Ian had any idea of his own
potential, he might have taught that old demon a thing or two
himself."

"Ian? The Magus."

"Ian," he replied. "That's what I named him."

"You named ... " This was more than he'd anticipated. Well,
in for a penny. "Start from the beginning."

"That would involve explaining over ten thousand years of
history. We'd miss dinner."

"Just give me the high points."

"Oberon wanted a son. Titania refused to bear one. No fairy
woman would do it, fearing her wrath, so he went among the mortals,
and ... " He paused, then continued. "When he brought Ian home,
the Queen was enraged, for good reason. I took care of him while
they quarreled. After a week of arguing bitterly, they reached an
agreement. Ian would be sent back to his mother."

He glanced at David. "You do recall how put out you were when
Oberon planned to take your child after a few hours? I had mine
for seven days. It was the most wonderful week of my life, and
then Oberon summoned me and said I had to send away the first being
I'd ever loved. I was also ... put out. And alone. The Three
wanted him dead. None of the others would have stood with me, not
for a halfling babe who had caused such terrible fighting between
the King and Queen. I had no one to ask for help, and I was afraid
to confront Oberon by myself.

"I took him back, but she was already months dead by her own
hand. I could have stayed with him, might even have brought him
back to Avalon. I wasn't brave enough, strong enough. I left him.
After we were sent out, Oberon had me run an errand. When I was on
my own, I went to look for Ian.

"No one knew where he'd gone, only that two days before he'd
slipped away in the night with two ladies of the court, a serving
woman and her son, and a clutch of gargoyle eggs. I searched and
searched, and after a century, I gave him up for dead."

David thought about this momentarily. "Why wasn't he banished
from Avalon with the rest of you?"

"He was raised mortal. The Diaspora, like the Gathering, only
bound those who knew what they were. That's why Fox wasn't called
to the Gathering."

He wanted to ask more, ask why the Puck had been so obsessed
with finding one child, Oberon's son or not, but his friend's face,
haunted now in remembrance, stilled the words before he could speak
them.

"Owen," he said, although he was no longer certain that was the
proper name to call him, "I'm sorry. He obviously meant a great deal to
you."

"Ian was the closest I will probably ever come to having a child of
my own. Alexander means the world to me, and even before his birth, I
started thinking of him as perhaps a way for me to make amends for last
time. I thought Ian was nine centuries in his grave, not a few days." He
swallowed. "Angela said he died fighting the Three. They killed him.
He was their brother and they struck him down without caring and I
wasn't there to stop them."

David tried to reconcile his mental picture of three little
girls with overlarge blue eyes to the image of three bloodthirsty
murderers. Oberon's daughters? Probably Titania's as well, which
made them Fox's half-sisters. The family tree was getting more
confusing by the minute.

"Can you contact Oberon? If you tell him what happened ... "

"It doesn't matter!" he snapped. "Ian is dead. There's nothing that
will bring him back. The Three will inherit the throne, and the worlds
move ever onward."

"Is there anything you can do about it?"

"No!" Owen was near the breaking point, his good hand drawn
into a tight fist to match his left.

"Then let it go," he said quietly. "Before it destroys you.
'Things without all remedy should be without regard.'"

Owen stared at him, jaw clenched, his body taut and quivering
like a guitar string, ready to snap at the touch of a pick. Then, as if an
unseen hand had fingered the tuning key just so, he loosened. "'What's
done is done.'"

He nodded. His friend changed visibly before him. The nervous,
edgy air he'd worn since the arrival of the gargoyles faded from sight,
leaving only the man he'd known these past several years: calm,
unflappable.

"I'll let it go," he said, and the last traces of the stranger were gone
from him.

"Good. Now, about those reports ... "

VVVVV

Fox felt Harvey's reassuring presence behind her as they
ascended the gloomy stairway. She liked Harvey, had liked him for
years. He was the kind of no-nonsense guy who made excellent
stuntmen, and effective employees. He rarely asked questions, took
orders well, and he could fight, almost at the level she had been
before Alex. Harvey was good people.

She wasn't so sure about the couple she'd come to meet. She
was making an effort to not make assumptions based on the building
itself, with its cheerless crumbling brick exterior and faded
yellow wallpaper which might have been gingham at one point. The
interior was mostly clean, and if the sunlight coming through the
window at the end of the hallway was less than dazzling, well, it
was October. This time last year, she'd been spending her nights
as a werewolf. On the whole, she preferred things as they were.

She stopped in front of the door. 4-C. Owen had said they
would be expecting her. She took a breath and knocked. The door
opened, was caught by a chain. A woman's pinched face looked at
her through the crack.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Sloane?" A nod. "I'm Fox Xanatos. I believe you spoke
to my assistant on the phone?" Another nod, slower. The door shut
all the way, and Fox stepped back, confused. She heard the chain
being slid out of its groove, heard its scrape as it swung against
the wooden frame, and the door opened all the way.

"Won't you come in?"

"Thank you," she said, and entered the apartment, Harvey two
steps behind her. At Mrs. Sloane's fearful expression she said,
"This is my associate, Harvey Muldrake." Harvey smiled winningly
but did not extend his hand. Probably a good idea.

"A pleasure," the woman said automatically.

Fox glanced around the room, trying not to let her distaste
show. The place had obviously been furnished in the "Let's Go
Olive!" seventies, and had seen only the occasional foray into the
past two decades since. A large, plaid couch dominated what passed
for the living room, with an almost-matching lounge chair beside
the television. The dining room, which was really just a space on
the shag carpet right before the kitchen nook, held a Formica-
covered table with a set of cheap vinyl and metal chairs. There
was a smell, underlying everything, of old cigarettes and windows
rarely opened.

She tried to remember if she'd ever seen her former associates
smoking, decided she had not, and recalled a night on assignment in
Panama, when Wolf, in a rare fit of generosity, had offered a round
of joints to the whole gang. She'd taken one, in fond tribute to her
delightfully misspent youth. Dingo had declined, but then, he also
never drank anything stronger than spring water. She had been
pretty sure Hyena was about to take one, but Jackal had given her
a Look, the most intense Fox had ever seen from him, and she'd
passed. Fox hadn't paid the incident much attention, and had
mostly forgotten it until this moment.

So this was where Jackal and Hyena had grown up.

Victoria Fraser Phillips Sloane stood in her living room,
gestured to the couch. Fox sat down, Harvey remained standing.
After a moment, the other woman sat in the lounge chair. Fox
cleared her throat.

"I'm not certain how much Mr. Burnett told you. First of all,
Hannah," she tried the name on her tongue, found it didn't fit
quite right, "is in prison."

"That doesn't surprise me." She sounded, and looked, very
tired. Fox examined her face, looking for traces of her children
in it. Yes, there it was, hidden under years. She had the same
elfin chin her daughter did, and while her eyes were fatigued and
lined, she was certain they once had the same sparkle she
remembered from both her children when they were on the hunt. "Is
Jack there, too?"

"We don't know where he is. He's wanted by the police." The
woman nodded; if she were going to cry for what her children had
become, she had done so long before. Fox had thought to mention
the charges and found them needless. For whatever reason, their
mother had already long ago accepted what would happen. She would
not come to New York, either to protest the charges, or simply to
visit her daughter. Fox had been forced to tell her own parents
not to interfere, just to keep them from meddling further with her
life.

She had one last thing with which to crack the woman's
impassive facade. "The reason I'm here is because your daughter
contacted me a few weeks ago. We used to work together," she
hedged. The word "friend" implied a closeness she'd never felt
with any of the Pack except Dingo. "She's pregnant. She's due in
January."

She looked for some sign of shock, of emotion, of anything
from Mrs. Sloane. Instead, she read only more tiredness. "Again?"

Again? "She's had another child?" That was a new twist on
things. She'd never once mentioned a baby, until last month.

"No." The finality in her voice precluded any further
questions on the subject. "Do you know who the father is?"

"I don't. I imagine she does, but she hasn't told me." And
I'm not sharing any speculations, either. "She knows prison is no
place for a baby. She wants to sign custody over to me. After
that, we'll hand the child to you."

"Why?" There was honest confusion in her voice.

"The baby should be with family. You're her next of kin,
other than Jackal. Jack," she amended. She still read a lack of
comprehension on the woman's face. "My husband and I will be happy
take care of all the medical costs, even after he's born." She'd
had Owen run a projection of those costs as a worst-case scenario
including severe mental and physical disabilities. Considering
what they could expect, the worst case was not as remote a
possibility as she wanted to believe, but even if it came true, it
would be an insignificant expense.

"Mrs. Xanatos," she said, as if explaining a simple fact to a
small child, "I haven't seen Hannah since she was eighteen. She
moved to Los Angeles to live with Jack. They wrote me four letters
after that, and called me about half a dozen times. The last time
Hannah called me, she was in rehab and wanted me to call the
hospital and get her released. I'd already talked to Jack about
it. He'd been the one to commit her. I told her no, and she hung
up, and I haven't heard from her since."

The face her own mother had worn for most of Fox's life was
briefly before her, her pretty eyes saddened. She hadn't come to
the arraignment after that mishap with Goliath and Lexington, but
she surely saw it on t.v. What had she felt? Astonishment? Grief?
Disappointment at what her mortal child had become? Or had she the
same expression this woman did, which was none of the above, simply
acknowledgment that this was to be her lot in life and no more?

But in this case, Fox had been the one to give the order,
hadn't she. She'd been the one to show the photos David had given
her, and she'd been the one to goad the rest into action, to order
this woman's children to attempt to assassinate her lover. They
might still have ended up in prison, for various things, but as
Hyena had pointed out to her, the step that had led them there the
first time had been paved by Fox. Whatever David reasoned with her
otherwise, this was the truth.

Yet more proof as to why the kid needed to be as far away from her
as possible.

"Mrs. Sloane," she said, "I'm sorry about your children. I didn't
talk much with my parents when I got out on my own, and now I'm
wondering if that was a very big mistake. This baby doesn't have to be
like that, though. You can give him a home, and then maybe ... "

"Maybe things will work out okay and we'll all live happily
ever after?" asked the woman. "What world are you living in?" Her
flash of anger passed. "We'll take the baby. Jerry will say we're
just mopping up another one of Hannah's mistakes. I don't suppose
it matters much either way."

Relief filled her. The Sloanes would take the child. She and
David could provide whatever monetary support they needed, and her
infant conscience would be satisfied. All was well.

She glanced around the room one last time as she stood. There
were no windows in the living room; she assumed there would be some
in the bedrooms beyond. It was dark, and slightly claustrophobic,
but she was certain there was room for a playpen in one corner.

She wasn't sure if Mrs. Sloane worked. If she did, and her
husband did, they would need a babysitter. Maybe some brighter
decorations, too, rather than the chintzy pictures that failed to
add color to the place. She noticed one photograph above the
television, of Mrs. Sloane and presumably her husband. She didn't
spy any pictures of Jackal or Hyena, and that bothered her. Her
father had a number of pictures of her at various ages in his
office, and while her mother had played at being human she'd kept
at least one photograph of the three of them with her at whatever
lab she called home, even after the divorce.

Another little voice nagged at her, speculating that perhaps
this wasn't the best thing for the child after all.

"I'll have Mr. Burnett work up the details, then. We have
some time before the baby is born, but we'll probably contact you
within the next few weeks to make preliminary arrangements."

"All right," said Mrs. Sloane. She didn't really seem
interested. The little voice inside her grew louder. She told the
voice to can it. The woman stood and saw them to the door.

Harvey nodded his head in a friendly manner and ducked
outside; Fox stayed a moment longer. "If you'd like to contact
your daughter, she's in Arkham Asylum. They have better medical
facilities than Riker's," she explained.

"Thank you, but she and I have nothing to discuss." The
reality behind the words was reflected in her gaze: although she'd
given birth twice, this woman truly had no children.

Fox was going to shake her hand, but suddenly, she didn't want
to. She wanted to leave. Now.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Sloane," she said. The door closed behind
her. In a moment, she heard the woman scrabbling for the chain,
and felt the finality of its jangle as she slid it back into place.

VVVVV

Elisa hadn't been certain why she'd invited Matt along with her to
the castle on their night off. It wasn't like he didn't have other things to
do. Although, she admitted as they got into the elevator together, she
wasn't sure she wanted to know what those things were.

He would probably have spent the evening poring over decades-
old clues, trying to piece together yet another unofficial investigation.
He'd been tight-lipped about the Illuminati for a long time; she often
wondered if he didn't trust her anymore, or if he was protecting her
from Things Better Left Unknown.

More likely, Matt was just being weird again.

They talked about nothing much on the way up, both lost in
thought behind their words. He asked about her family. She told
him what she could, without giving anything else about Derek's
location away to whatever hidden microphones Xanatos had installed
in the elevator shaft.

She'd gotten a call from Beth earlier that evening, and it was
bothering her. A lot. "Matt," she asked him suddenly, "you didn't
happen to drop by my folks' house when my sister was in town, did
you?"

He looked at her, mystified. "No," he said slowly. "Should
I have?"

She shook her head. "No. Just wondering." She didn't think
it had been Matt anyway.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her, a rare and almost sweet
concern on his face.

"Not with me," she said, and didn't say anything else. The
elevator drew to a stop and opened its doors. There was music
coming from the direction of the library, vocal music. That was
very ... peculiar.

She glanced at Matt. He raised his eyebrow. Together, they
edged their way towards the sound. Xanatos stood by the door,
looking but not entering. He waved them over.

The clan, including the two oldest humans considered to be so,
had gathered together in the room, but they weren't alone. Macbeth
had also come to visit (damn, there was a reunion she wished she
could have witnessed --- while the last time Tom and Katharine had
seen him, he'd been attacking their home under the spell of the
Weird Sisters, he was also probably Katharine's only surviving
kinsman). And the biggest surprise of all ...

King Arthur was sitting with them, quite at home. No wonder
they'd abandoned the living room. No sign of Griff, er Sir
Griff, but he was probably nearby.

"Arthur and Griff came just before sunrise," said Xanatos in
a low tone. "Macbeth dropped in this afternoon. They've been in
here since the gargoyles woke. Griff's in my office, calling
London." There was an odd smile about his lips. When she and Matt
went to enter the room, his arm blocked the way.

"Wait."

Impatiently, she tried to get past him. Then the music started
again.

There was no instrumentation, merely the sound of voices
mingled, most low, two a shade higher. She didn't know the lyrics;
hell, she could only make a guess at the language they were
speaking. It had to be some early Gaelic dialect, although she
wasn't sure which one. It didn't matter. The song itself was a
light thing, probably some love song from ages past. They all
seemed to know it, and as they sang, it became a living thing
between them.

In a low whisper, Xanatos said, "Not one person in that room
is under a thousand years old."

Was that envy in his voice? Commanding the anger out of her
own, she said, "Macbeth lost his family and has been attempting
suicide for nearly nine hundred years. Princess Katharine is
losing her mind, and when she's gone, it'll pretty much destroy
Tom. Arthur was betrayed by his son and is the only person from
his era. I don't need to tell you what Goliath and the other
gargoyles have been through." She fixed him with a glare. "Which
one do you want to be?"

Ignoring the shock on his face, she walked past him and into
the room, where the song was ending. Matt followed her in, not
saying a word.

Goliath looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back.

Arthur, ever the gentleman, rose as she entered the room. "A
sight for sore eyes," he said, and clasped her hand. "It is good
to see you again, Elisa."

"Likewise," she responded. "Your Majesty, I'd like to
introduce my partner, Matthew Bluestone. Matt, meet Arthur
Pendragon."

Matt stood there, his mouth open, then he stuck out his hand.
"Nice to meet you. Sir. Your Majesty. Hi." Arthur shook his
hand generously, and was kind enough to not smile at Matt's utter
loss of his wits.

Elisa watched Matt's mouth tremble, and said sweetly to him:
"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"One line from Monty Python and you're leaving the castle the
hard way."

"Okay." His mouth quirked more, and she knew he was biting
back line after line of John Cleese.

Elisa settled into a convenient crook of Goliath's arm, glanced
around again, then asked him quietly, "Where's Fox?"

"Out of the city for a while." There was neither happiness
nor sorrow in his tone, merely a reporting of fact. Elisa felt a
great weight lift from her, made even lighter when she watched
Katharine. She was the only one who knew to whom she thought she
was speaking, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

The little group started on another song, in some variation of
English, although she didn't know the words or the tune. She
reconciled herself to simply listening, and feeling the deep tones
vibrate from Goliath directly into her. Matt pulled up a chair,
straddled it, and sat with his arms folded on the back, watching
everything in semi-awed silence.

At one point, she noticed both Arthur and Macbeth fixing Tom
with near matching stares of pity. Written clearly on both faces
was the knowledge of what he was about to go through, met with the
painful awareness that nothing could be done to prevent it. Then
Griff came back into the room, and their attention turned back to
the music.

The songs ended after a time, and the talk began. As before,
Elisa and Matt, and Griff as well, remained quiet while the rest
fell into stories of what once was and could no longer be. She
heard regrets, though not painful ones, not anymore, merely sadness
at what had passed. As she had many times before, she heard the
tales of what had occurred at Wyvern, the betrayal, the massacre,
and the flight of the three keepers of the Eggs. Macbeth picked up
with the history of afterwards, Constantine's eventual deposal, the
return of Katharine's family to the throne, the continued struggles
before his own reign, and after it.

The stories were a tapestry of lives, woven together by slender,
perhaps immortal fingers. Macbeth was aware, finally, of how much
his own life had been shaped by the machinations of the Three Sisters,
and while there was some lingering bitterness towards them and
Demona in his words, it was not harsh.

Arthur's tales did not dwell upon the distant past. He and
Griff regaled the group with stories of their adventures thus far
in searching for Merlin. They had spent some time in Russia, and
more in Australia. They hadn't run into Dingo, but Arthur had
heard rumors of a vigilante hero, covered all in silver, who
matched his description.

They had returned to New York, they said, to gather allies.
While the quest was going as quests did, Arthur felt he would be
more effective with more knights. To her surprise, he immediately
offered Macbeth a place beside him, and to her greater surprise, he
turned him down. Brooklyn filled her in quickly: this had happened
before, while she and Goliath and Angela had been gone.

Then he asked Matt.

Matt stared.

"Me?"

"Certainly. Elisa says you are her equal in skill, and she is
a fine warrior." She mumbled her thanks, blushing, while the Trio
and Hudson stared at her. "Also, you know the ways of the new
time. While Griff and I," he nodded companionably towards his
friend, "are capable of watching out for ourselves, we know little
of this world in which we travel. What say you?"

"ummmm... Can I think about it?" There was a slightly dazed
look on his face. Elisa hid her grin.

"For as long as you please," responded Arthur, and rather than
extend his invitation to anyone else, he moved on to a retelling of
their latest adventure, in Peru.

While Griff described the village at the top of the mountain,
Matt leaned over to her. "What just happened?"

"King Arthur invited you to go questing with him."

Matt nodded. "That's what I thought happened." He moved back
into his original position, and didn't say another word the entire
night.

At about two a.m., common sense overtook curiosity, and with
reluctance, she bid good-bye to the others. She wished Arthur and
Griff speed in their upcoming journey, to begin shortly after
sundown. Arthur repeated his offer to Matt, and then she steered
him out, fully intending to drop him off at his apartment, go back
to her own, and catch a little shut-eye.

Which is precisely what she did.

VVVVV

Fox had recently seen a preview for a movie in which the main
character, an angel, had claimed to have invented standing in line.
If the same angel had been the sadistic mind behind the concept of
board meetings, she was going to personally hunt down John Travolta
and hurt him.

Still, the business had to be kept running so that she and
David could pursue their more interesting hobbies; the more money
Xanatos Enterprises pulled in, the more likely they were to achieve
their plans of world domination. She held back a giggle as she
glanced at Owen and willed him to say "Zort." Nope. Wasn't going
to happen. Ah well. He seemed to be in a better mood today, if
nothing else.

She herself was feeling much better. She and Harvey had come
home early that morning, and despite her minor jetlag, she felt
alive and ready to go, and she'd told David so. Getting out of
town had been just the ticket. She refused to think about the
dreams she'd written down in her little notebook. They were silly,
and besides, they'd stopped after Alex's birth. It was high time
she forgot them and moved onto important things, like today's
meeting.

Coleman, one of the too many accountants in attendance at this
particular conference, continued what he probably considered a
fascinating treatise on the current market value of some of the
various companies under the XE umbrella. She focused on his words
long enough to determine that he was saying absolutely nothing of
interest to her; as long as the values kept going up, she was
perfectly content. She was more concerned with the proposed
filming schedules for the new lineup from Pack Media Studios, which
they were about to branch into a network.

From all angles, it looked like they could easily beat UPN and
the WB in ratings, and give her namesake network a good run for its
money. The problem lay in getting film in the can; their anchor
show, a science fiction series David had overseen personally, was
going through growing pains. Specifically, the lead actress packed
her bags and moved back to Europe, leaving them in a bind. She was
attending this meeting to see what could be done about delaying
filming without sending the studio into the red. Also, before they
became a network, they really needed a new name, as the current
acronym didn't quite put across the image they wanted.

Her mind drifted back to Owen, sitting stiffly in his own seat
the way he did when they discussed finance, or the weather, or
Alexander's toys. Never did he make a move to betray himself, not
a glance, not a twist of mouth, and now that he and David had
spoken, even the cross look was gone, to be replaced by something
she couldn't identify, something almost ...

Coleman finished his spiel, bringing her back to reality. To
her immense relief, the meeting was recessed so they could have
lunch. In response to the thought of food, her stomach gurgled,
and she covered it quickly. Yes, food was good, and then it was
time to feed Alex so Mrs. Ong could set him down for his afternoon
nap.

She stood with the rest, watched as they filed out towards
their own offices, turned back towards David to see if he'd rather
they eat in his office or go up to the dining room.

Firley, one of the token studio executives present, said, "Mr.
Xanatos, may I have a word with you?" just as Mrs. Ong appeared in
the doorway with an armful of Alexander.

David glanced at her. "I'll give Alex his lunch now," she
said. "When you're ready, I'll have Nicole make something for us."
He nodded, and turned expectantly towards Firley, while Owen
gathered his paperwork from the table.

Fox left the door ajar, and paused half a moment in curiosity.
What did Firley want to ask David that couldn't have been asked of
her instead? Alex saw her and squirmed in the nanny's clutches,
and she turned her attention towards him again in glee tempered
with trepidation.

"There's my good boy," she cooed. He fastened his arms around
her neck. Good sign, she thought as she gingerly pulled him from
Amy to herself. She shifted him around so he wasn't quite so heavy
on her shoulders, and breathed an internal sigh of relief when
neither of them spontaneously combusted.

One determined little fist went into her hair, and then directly into
his mouth. "Does that taste good? Mommy used the botanical
shampoo this morning. Can you say botanical?"

Alex gurgled something that might have been "botanical,"
"refrigerator," or "Bill of Rights," but probably was another
attempt at "Mama." She nuzzled his nose. "When Daddy comes out,
tell him you want to be a biologist." Alex must've thought that
was the funniest thing he ever heard, because he squeal-gurgled.

Then his bright face went utterly blank, just before he let
out a yowl of pain.

Distress raced through her. What had she done wrong? She
could see nothing visibly awry with him, and a quick sniff
indicated a clean diaper. Was he hungry? No, this wasn't his
"Feed me now" scream. This was his "I hurt I hurt I hurt I hurt
fix it please mommy" scream, and it ate into her guts because she
could see nothing to fix.

Her guts. Her guts were on fire. Terror, inspired by belated
but warming instinct, thrust Alex into his nurse's arms before she
could register what was happening, and propelled her back into the
Board Room.

Firley, eyes gone totally, horribly green, had a dripping knife drawn
back, ready to bury it deep into David, who was crouched ready to
spring. Owen lay crumpled on the floor; from the too-large stain
spreading from beneath him, the knife had just been pulled out of his
body.

Fox ascertained all this in an instant, then screamed her
loudest "Kee-yop!" Firley's head whipped partway around, and David
took the moment to launch himself directly into his attacker,
bringing his fist into the man's face with enough force to shatter
most of his bottom teeth. Firley, feeling nothing, pulled the
knife in, ready to thrust it into his back. Without even thinking,
Fox executed a flying kick, knocking the knife far out of his
range, and snapping his wrist neatly. He roared and flipped David
off him. Wrist hanging, jaw slack, he faced her.

And stopped dead.

Looking very confused, he stuttered, "Wha what?"

He didn't have time to ask anything else, because David
snarled and threw him down again. This time, Firley didn't fight
as David knocked him senseless, and only when Fox physically pulled
him off did he stop.

David panted, adrenaline obviously still well in control of
him. She could sympathize; with her current endorphin rush, she
was ready to take on ten more Firleys, or else tear off David's
suit and have him on the table. Neither was an option right now.

She knelt by Owen, felt for a pulse. After a frantic search,
she found a thready beat at his neck. "Amy!" she yelled, then
cursed. Amy Ong's English vocabulary still mainly consisted of
"No," "Stop," "Bottle," and "Ceiling." Not useful in calling an
ambulance. "David ... "

He already had his cell phone out and was dialing. She
looked around madly for something to staunch Owen's wound, then
pulled off her blazer. She waited for the XE medics to arrive and
make it all better, willing Owen to live with the repeating
thought, "Please don't die please don't die please don't die."

VVVVV

Chavez glared at her as she handed Elisa the file. "I should
have my head examined for letting you do this."

"Can I help it they won't talk to anyone else?" she replied,
probably too fast. She stifled a yawn. Three-thirty in the
afternoon was not her idea of a proper time to be at work,
especially when she'd only had two hours of sleep that morning.
The Captain's equally lousy mood echoed her sentiments.

"Just get their statements, and inform them someone else has
to handle the investigation. If they want, I'll put Bluestone on it."

Elisa pondered the notion of letting Matt loose on this
particular case. "I'll mention it." She escaped via the newly-
installed door, and paused, collecting her thoughts. When she felt
ready, or at least better suited to what lay before her, she walked
purposefully towards Interrogation Room B.

McKenzie and Tan waited, less than patient expressions on
their tired faces. Xanatos stood leaning against the wall, his
arms crossed; Fox sat with her hands primly folded on the table.
Her head came up as Elisa walked into the room, and she smiled
half-heartedly.

"Detective," said Xanatos, nodding.

"Elisa," said McKenzie, keeping watch on the pair, "we can
stay if you want."

Fox turned her gaze to the other officer. "You make it sound
like we're the criminals."

McKenzie's eyes gave all the response he needed. Elisa said
quickly, "That won't be necessary. Unless you think I can't take
a statement."

The door opened again. Matt, unshaven and hair mussed,
hurried into the room. "Sorry I'm late."

McKenzie, with a last spiteful glance at the couple, pushed
past Matt out the door. A moment later, Tan followed him. Elisa
indicated her partner. "Do you mind if he stays?"

"That depends," Xanatos said. "How much does he know?"

"I know enough," said Matt hotly.

Elisa touched his arm. "Matt, maybe it would be better if you
let me handle this."

He started to say something, then stopped himself, scowled at
his partner, and asked, "What haven't you told me this time? More
mythical people? Aliens, maybe?"

"Actually," said Fox, "we're harboring Bigfoot in our pantry.
He's been giving Broadway cooking tips."

Matt grumbled something under his breath. "Elisa ... "

"I'll tell you what I can when we're finished. Promise."

He sighed, saw the amusement in Xanatos' eyes, and stalked out,
pulling the door closed behind him. Perfect. Now Matt was mad at
her. Because of even more secrets that weren't hers to tell. Yes, Matt,
the stiff guy in the suit moonlights as a thousands-year-old imp with
long pointy ears and bad fashion sense. She'd woken up less than an
hour before, and already her head hurt.

"All right," she said to no one in particular. She turned on
the room's recorder. "Now tell me everything you can about what
happened."

Fox reached out and turned the recorder off again.

"No recordings." Damn. She'd been afraid of that. She sat
down, put the notebook in front of her but left it closed.

"Start."

Xanatos sat down beside Fox, then began to speak.

" ... when she stepped out of the room, he reached into his
briefcase and pulled out the knife. Owen was closer to him, and
blocked the first thrust with his left fist. He got in a good shot
to the midsection, but it didn't even phase Firley. Before either
of us could do anything, he'd pulled the knife back from the parry,
and ... " He took a breath. "And then he stabbed Owen. He
twisted it and pulled it out, and then he turned towards me. Fox
ran into the room, and we managed to disarm him. But he kept
coming, like he didn't feel any pain. We finally subdued him."

Elisa glanced at her file. "According to the attending
physician, his wrist is broken, his jaw fractured, and he's still
unconscious. I'd hardly call that subduing."

"Nothing stopped him," said Fox. Then she paused. "Although
it seemed like he stopped fighting after a while."

Elisa couldn't stop herself. "Head wounds can do that to you."

"I'm serious." There was no trace of humor in either of them
now, and she regretted her quip. Their friend was in surgery, and
the prognosis wasn't good. At all. She'd seen the preliminary
reports; she privately didn't expect him to live through the night,
and she wasn't sure how that made her feel. Their shock, carefully
masked but visible to eyes well-accustomed to reading those
inconstant faces, told her they knew it as well. If Owen died, and
the Puck with him, Alex would no longer have a teacher. And then
his step-grandfather would return for him.

"Can you think of any reason why Mr. Firley would want to kill
you?"

Xanatos shook his head. "Ralph has always been an excellent
employee." He glanced at his wife. "We don't believe he was behind
this."

Elisa blinked. "He came after you with a knife and you don't
think he's behind it?"

"That's why we needed to talk to you. During the fight, his
eyes were green. Fay green."

She sighed. "Your in-laws." Both nodded. "Why would they
want to kill you?"

"I don't know," he said. "But it makes sense. Firley did
stop fighting, the moment he saw Fox. Whoever it was didn't want
her to be hurt. It has to be them."

Elisa sat back. If what he said was true, it did make sense.
But it didn't fit right inside of her. Why would Titania want her
son-in-law killed? She was smart enough to know it wouldn't win
her ground in regaining her daughter's trust. Oberon, then? He
had no particular reason to want Xanatos dead, and besides, from
what she'd gathered concerning his last appearance in Manhattan,
subtlety wasn't among his strong attributes. Or even in his
vocabulary. Perhaps one of the other Children had found a way
around Oberon's decree, Coyote maybe, still angry at his capture,
or Anubis, at his.

She heard the door open, turned to see Matt again.

"What is it?" she asked, hoping he hadn't heard too much.

"We just got a call from the Eyrie Building." He twisted his
mouth. "Burnett's out of surgery. He's still under, but the
doctor on the phone said he thinks he'll pull through." She didn't
miss the relief washing over Xanatos' face. "Thought I'd let you
know. Elisa, while you're questioning them, you might want to ask
why they didn't send him to the hospital."

"You should know the answer to that, Detective. I already
have some of the finest medical minds in the world on my payroll."
Matt snorted, and pulled the door shut again. Xanatos continued,
in a lower voice, "Fortunately. There's no way I could have
explained to an outside surgeon that operating with stainless steel
could kill the patient."

Stainless ... Oh, right. Because of the trace iron, like in her gun.

"Can you think of anyone else who would want to kill you who
can use magic? I can't exactly show up on Avalon with a warrant."

"There's always Demona. Whether she wants me dead or not, she
has the ability."

"And she wouldn't mind getting rid of Owen, either," added Fox.

Elisa considered it. "His death would probably free her from
the spell that turns her human. But she'd need a specific reason
to kill you." She shook her head. "Besides, the spell she'd use
for mind control was destroyed. I destroyed it." It had been an
artifact, yes, an ancient spell out of the Grimorum, but Goliath
was still technically under it, and as long as it existed, there
was a chance Demona would figure out a way around their solution.

"We'll keep her on the list of possible suspects," she decided
aloud. "Who else?"

"Macbeth has the ability," said Fox. "And he was in the
castle last night."

Xanatos shook his head. "It would be against his code of
honor. Besides, I think we're all on the same side this week."

Elisa had to agree, and she couldn't think of any other non-
fay with means, motive and opportunity. Dammit. "Demona it is,
for our chief suspect. Is there anything else you want to tell
me?"

"Nothing that can be put on the record."

"All right. Then our next move is to ask Owen if he knows
anything about it. If Firley was under a spell, he might be able
to figure out who cast it."

They stood, Xanatos lending a hand to Fox despite the fact
that she obviously didn't need it. Not for the first time, Elisa
marveled at his treatment of her. In dealings both personal and
commercial, David Xanatos was the single most ruthless person of
any species she'd ever met. When it came to his family, and she
was beginning to sense Owen qualified under that term, he was
concerned, compassionate, even tender. As the days and weeks went
by, she was having increasing difficulty maintaining her cherished
view of him, as a creature only slightly less diabolical than the
Antichrist. She'd come to warily respect him. On occasion, she
almost found herself ... liking him.

She cast off the thought. Derek had trusted Xanatos. That he had
been betrayed by him twice was a crime she could never forgive of the
man. She didn't care if he spent the rest of his days working as a poor
monk in India with Mother Theresa; he'd hurt her brother. Eventually,
he would pay for it.

As she passed Matt in the hallway, heading out to her car, he
touched her arm, held her there. "Where're you off to?"

"Guess." He let her go, a small scowl distorting his otherwise
handsome features.

"It's a few hours before sundown. If they give you any trouble ... "

" ... then things will be back to normal and I'll deal with it. I'll be
all right, Matt. They need me."

"And they don't want me there." He expelled a breath, looked
pointedly behind her where she imagined Fox and Xanatos waited.
"Elisa."

She didn't want to get into this with him, not with them
there. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"Fine." He turned the other direction and walked off. Was
that a twinge of jealousy she'd picked up from him? Just what she
needed to make her day complete, and it wasn't even four-fifteen.

"I'll meet you there," she said with more force than she'd
intended. It would look really bad if she took the limo back
with them. Besides, hellish rush hour traffic or not, a drive by
herself with the radio on High was really what she needed right
now.

VVVVV